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CATHERINE
This is exactlywhat I needed, to be far away from Hunter Farro with those hypnotic eyes and the lips of a god.
I swirl the candy apple blow pop around the base of the pink and purple technicolor martini glass and shout to my childhood friend and bride to be Ava, “Lollipops in a Martini, I love it. Whose idea was this?”
Dressed in a short white dress with a princess tiara, Ava leans toward me to be heard over a loud Justin Bieber song. We are in the back private room of Smitty’s, every woman’s favorite bar in town. Twenty giggling, silly on their way to getting drunk women. Her dainty hand lands on my exposed shoulder, and she juts her chin toward the corner of the room I’ve avoided thus far, “Claire. Showed up with a bag full of suckers and sweet talked Smitty.”
My raised eyebrow gives away my surprise. Claire looks barely old enough to drink. While every other guest at the party is wearing a short black cocktail dress, Claire wears a strapless fitted navy floral print tie-front romper which I hate how much I love. Claire throws her head back in laughter at something Miriam shared.
It’s an unguarded laugh, so unlike the tense moment we shared in the deli. Her hair waves across her exposed shoulders and I can’t help but stare. She is gorgeous.
“You guys hit it off?” I ask Ava, wondering how fast Claire has penetrated my circle of friends.
Ava flicks her long eyelashes and looks at me over her drink, stealing a quick sip of her Caribbean Ocean blue cocktail. “She seems cool. Young and naïve but weren’t we all at that age?”
I nod and let the words marinate. Over the last two hours I’ve avoided Claire other than the initial hello she gave me upon arriving. I know why and I kick myself. Once again, I’ve allowed Palmer to get into my head. A man I thought I had long ago washed away from my memory. “No more Cosmo Jell-O Shots for you,” I warn Ava. “We don’t need you walking down the aisle like you’re taking a sobriety test on the side of the highway. I’m watching. Be right back.” Ava shoots me a joyful smile, something she’s done ever since Carlos proposed to her last summer.
My hand scoops up a better-than-sex chocolate caramel cupcake off the tray and walk toward Claire. Miriam spots me first, tipping her tall glass of spiked orange slushy in my direction before stepping away. The girls know my history with Palmer.
“Claire?” She twists, and my shoulders tighten the moment her beautiful smile turns plastic. I don’t know if it’s because of our strange encounter earlier in the deli, the cold reception I’ve given off since I’ve arrived, or if Palmer has begun to poison her mind. “How was the sandwich?”
“Okay, I guess. Not really to my liking.”
“Good,” I say too excited, and her brow pinches. “I mean, I’m sure Palmer means well but you really need to strike out on your own and decide what you like.” I bounce on my toes and remember I’m holding the cupcake. “Here, I got this for you.”
Her eyes light up for a second, the want in her eyes unmistakable, but she shakes her head. “That’s okay.”
Her gaze follows the treat as I lower it to my side. “Are you enjoying the party?”
“You don’t have to do that.” Her rebuttal comes across like a protective squeak, as if I’m bullying her.
“I’m sorry… do what?”
“This?” She waves her arms to her side. “Palmer told me to be careful at the party. That you would try to buddy up with me just to find out how he’s doing. To try to come between us.”
The cupcake nearly slips from my hand. As I catch it, cool frosting swipes across my fingers. “And you believed him?” I don’t wait for an answer. I raise a hand in her direction and pivot away. The brainwashing has begun.
The pull on my arm is unexpected. It’s soft and gentle. “Why wouldn’t I?” she asks with a pitch of curiosity that only reinforces my impression of her.
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Believe him – Palmer.”
Something about the way she says his name gives me pause. She must sense something is off. But it’s not my place. “I’m sorry Claire. You’re right. Stay away from me. You don’t know me.”
I begin to turn again and her hand lands on my elbow. I look down at her perfectly manicured fingers as they dig into my flesh. “But you know him.” I lift my chin to meet her gaze. “Don’t you?”
“Kendall Jenner,” I say. A look of shock runs across her face. She releases my elbow and takes a step back, nodding. “Palmer showed you a picture of Kendall Jenner wearing a similar romper outfit, didn’t he?”
She nods. “Same color and everything. He has a Pinterest board,” she states, adjusting the oversized bow tie on the front of the romper. He’s upgraded from a google drive to Pinterest since we were together. He’s always been obsessed. How did I not see any of this before?
“For me it was a ridiculously short nearly see through mini-dress that I had no business even trying on.” I fail to suppress the snicker that escapes from the corner of my mouth at the memory of spending nearly three minutes attempting to step out of Palmer’s car without flashing the world. “Kendall wore it to a press conference to distract the world after the Fyre Festival disaster. Worked like a charm.”
“What is it about men and short dresses?” A genuine Claire smile returns, and I exhale. She reaches for my hand. “I think I’ll take that cupcake now.”
I hand it over, holding it like a Middle East peace treaty. “We don’t have to talk about Palmer, Claire. We’re not defined by the men in our lives.”
“I’d like that,” she practically whispers. She begins to peel back the paper liner and pauses, her gaze capturing mine. “Can I say one last thing before we move on?”
